


5 First Kisses

by yaseanne



Series: Beginnings [1]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bargaining, F/M, First Kiss, Incest, M/M, Maiar being mystical, Shameless, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 11:44:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaseanne/pseuds/yaseanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For <a href="http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/2235.html?thread=2752443#t2752443">this prompt</a> on the kinkmeme:<br/>Five pairings, five first kisses. </p><p>(Gandalf/Galadriel (Gen)<br/>Ori/Bilbo (Gen/Teen)<br/>Fili/Thorin (Teen)<br/>Kili/Dwalin (Explicit)<br/>Bilbo/Nori (Gen/Teen))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gandalf/Galadriel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amazing [Lunulet](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunulet/pseuds/Lunulet) (the OP of the prompt) has [drawn fanart](http://lunulet.deviantart.com/#/d5s90nr) [for this chapter](http://lunulet.deviantart.com/art/Galadriel-Mithrandir-LOTR-5-First-Kisses-350768301) and it's all kinds of beautiful.

He is old, so old. He was born old, born into a body that has never known the pain of growing, the strength of youth and the hot rush of passion.

He is already slowly dying when he meets her for the first time. In the centuries he has spent traversing every inch of the land he has lost all colour, and the world lost its colour in turn. The _urge_ he was born with, that which Saruman calls their mission, still drives him, but it is joyless now. He has forgotten the mission (has he ever known?), he has forgotten why he agreed to this (did he ever agree?), what was worth meeting the same fates over and over, the same stories repeating themselves. Elves left, men built empires and died and dwarves were a piece on the board that everyone had to circumvent. He can vaguely remember a time when he still felt a light within him, when he believed that an evil vanquished once would be gone forever.

She is clad in green when he first sees the Lady of Light; the folds of her dress are hugging her form like leafy vines, transforming her into an unearthly vision in emerald and gold.

'Mithrandir,' she calls him, and something in her calls _to_ him, tugs at his soul (that is at the best of times loosely anchored these days) and draws him near, something terribly like recognition.

He is struck by her beauty, so much so that he cannot focus on her words but only her voice.

"Will you stand on our side in this fight?" she asks him, and he replies unthinkingly, "I do not stand on anyone's side." She merely has to tilt her head and he composes himself. "But I will do all that is in my power to destroy him, and I will be glad to do it with you."

She smiles then, a memory of lighter days, and he can let go of his disquiet over the coming hardships for a while. She is already deep inside his head, finding images that had laid forgotten too long, dusty and blurred. Each moment in her presence seems to take years off his soul, and he yearns to prolong their conversation, but now he is taken by the desire to fulfill his duty, his destiny, that which had haunted him for so long.

She holds him when they part, fingers light on his arms, and murmurs into his mind, "Take heart, Olórin."

Her lips on his are no more than a whisper, closer to the idea of a kiss than the actual act. She exhales softly against his mouth, the barest breath of touch, and when he breathes in it is his first breath, flooding every cell of his body with life and purpose.

It is his last kiss as well, and he carries it with him until the day he leaves, lets it fill him with the memory of her quiet grace. It helps him remember, sometimes, when he is lost in the dark.


	2. Ori/Bilbo

They're still going in circles by the time the sun sets.

"Dori! Nori! Thorin!" Ori would occasionally shout, and Bilbo would follow with a hearty "Gandalf!" even though he has his reservations about making loud noises when enemies could be anywhere around them.

"Are you sure you don't even have a knife?" he asks Ori. Ori shakes his head mournfully.

"Two knitting needles, and a ball of string," he lists.

"Oh well," says Bilbo, "at least if we meet a very small bat, or a very big moth, you can pin them."

As if on cue, there is a howl ringing through the cool night air. They stare at each other, then turn on the spot wildly.

"I think it came from the woods," squeaks Bilbo, and he tugs at Ori's sleeve and runs. He's heading for an outcrop to the North where he desperately hopes to find a cave.

"We're going to die," wheezes Ori, running along.

"Of course we could die," says Bilbo, and his recent adoption of a darker outlook on life seems to have thrown Ori, because the dwarf has stopped running. He's gaping at Bilbo, and Bilbo wants to kick himself. "But we're not going to, okay, we're going to find a cave and hide and hope the others find us before the wolf does."

The howls, he notices, are growing louder. Ori's eyes widen.

"That's no wolf," he says.

"What?"

"That's a warg. A warg with an Orc riding it, and it's coming straight at us."

 _That_ gets Bilbo moving. He reaches for Ori again, clutching his hand instead of his sleeve this time, and hurries towards the rocks.

"I can't die," whispers Ori.

"You're not going to die," says Bilbo firmly.

"No, you don't understand," moans Ori, " _I can't die,_ I haven't even had a first kiss yet."

Bilbo freezes. " _This_ is what worries you?" he hisses. "We're lost, we have no weapons, and there's an Orc after us, and your greatest regret is that you haven't been kissed?"

"Of course I've been kissed," says Ori, "but I was barely twenty and it was Dori, so it doesn't count."

Privately, Bilbo disagrees vehemently, but there are bigger things to worry about right now, such as the distant sounds of a large, sharp-toothed beast catching up with them.

He jerks Ori's hand again. "Come on," he huffs, "for the love of Old Took, _hurry_."

Ori is fast for a dwarf but even a hobbit can't outrun a warg for very long, and they both nearly sob with relief when they find a shallow cave that is partially hidden by brushes. They throw themselves into it, tumbling to the floor, and not a moment too soon because the Orc's shouts are audible by now.

Ori is whimpering, and he's still panting from the run, and by the Brandywine, they might actually die if he keeps it up.

"If you can stay silent," Bilbo says, searching wildly for anything that would help them, _anything_ , and finally triumphantly finishes, "I'll kiss you."

Ori looks sceptic, but he's stopped breathing harshly. "I don't think that would count either, Mister Baggins," he says.

"Of course it counts," hisses Bilbo, exasperated. "We're not kin, we're not even the same race. It definitely counts."

"I- yes, alright," says Ori finally, and Bilbo breathes a small sigh of relief because even by his standards, his reasoning was anything but logical.

 

When they are certain that both warg and rider are gone, they slowly creep out of the cave. A thorough investigation results in warg tracks heading further North, but there is only silence from that direction. Bilbo uses the opportunity to flop down in the grass and close his eyes. He's defied (almost) certain death, he can indulge in a little repose.

When he opens his eyes, Ori is standing at his feet. He coughs and says, "We didn't die."

"Nope," replies Bilbo happily.

"And I kept quiet," Ori continues, and Bilbo thinks, _ah. Right. Almost forgotten something._

"Come down here," he says and pats the grass. Ori kneels hesitantly. Bilbo sits up and beckons him closer, then he shuts everything about the journey, the Shire, the things his neighbours would say and the fact that he has no idea what he's doing firmly from his mind and focuses on making this good.

He cups Ori's cheek and leans in to kiss the other one, lips brushing against the warm skin. He feels Ori grasp blindly at his arm and closes his eyes, mouthing butterfly kisses over his cheek and the corner of his mouth. When his lips meet Ori's, he presses more firmly, and Ori responds by closing the remaining distance and leaning into him. They trade soft, closed-mouth kisses for a while, until Bilbo licks against Ori's lips and Ori gasps and just opens up, hands tugging at his hair and shoulders.

 _Definitely counts_ , thinks Bilbo, but things are getting fuzzy. Ori's beard is tickling his chin, stray strands of hair brushing against his temples, and his tongue twists wonderfully against Bilbo's. He buries his hand in Ori's hair and lets it run through his fingers and rubs the dwarf's necks with his fingertips. Vaguely, he's aware that he's growing hard, but it's a pleasant rush and he deepens the kiss, licking into Ori's mouth.

It's only when one of them moans (and Bilbo would be lying if he said it can't have been him) that he twists away; this is going a little further than he had planned.

"We should get back," he mutters, unsuccessfully trying to straighten his clothes.

Ori licks his lips - and oh, Bilbo is tempted to dive back in - and nods.

"Yes, okay," he stutters.

The way back to the camp seems to take forever, but at last they find it.

Dori and Nori meet them, visibly relieved.

"Where have you been? We've been worried sick!" cries Dori.

"We got lost, and there was an Orc after us," replies Bilbo.

"An Orc! What did you do?"

Bilbo glances at Ori. "We, ah, came to an agreement."


	3. Fili/Thorin

Fili can pinpoint the exact moment his life changed. Oh, of course his brother's birth had an impact, as did the decision to retake Erebor. But those are things he could expect. No, when Fili's life changed, it snuck up on him unexpectedly. It started with a dagger, his first dagger made by his own hand in the Blue Mountains. He'd proudly presented it to Thorin, and after examining it thoroughly, Thorin had returned it, clasped his shoulder and said, "Well done, Fili," and kissed him.

And then he'd turned around and walked off, leaving Fili rooted to the spot, the impression of his uncle's soft lips forever imprinted on his own.

He doesn't touch himself that night, even though he spends the day in a daze of confused arousal, or the night after; but by the third day he's hard most of the time he spends awake and it becomes unbearable. That night he locks his room and strips purposefully. He's pretty sure he wasn't supposed to enjoy the kiss like this in the first place, and what he's contemplating is so far from normal that the shame alone should be enough to wilt his erection, but instead he grows rock hard.

He lies down and brushes the tips of his fingers over his cock, smearing precome over the head. The soft touch makes him hiss sharply. Licking his palm and grasping the shaft firmly, he conjures his uncle's face in his mind, dark eyes and slightly parted lips, and begins to stroke himself slowly.

Thorin's lips had been soft and mostly dry, but firm. He remembers hair brushing his face, and adds a sharp twist to his strokes. His cock is leaking now, hips pushing off the bed, and he can't help but moan when he recalls the look in his uncle's eyes, the intense gaze that was for once fixed entirely on him.

What would Thorin think if he could see him right now?, he wonders. Has he really locked the door, or maybe he's forgotten it. Maybe his uncle is on his way to him now, striding down the corridor, cloak billowing behind him. He speeds up his strokes, fisting his cock harshly, trying to recreate the pressure of Thorin's hands on him, strong and unrelenting. When he comes it's with the memory of being surrounded by Thorin, a memory so strong it is almost physical. He licks his lips and clings to the illusion that he can still taste Thorin, and that thought, that he knows what his uncle tastes like, has him cry out and spill into his hand.

Once the aftershocks stop the shame does set in, and he spends the next week avoiding Thorin whenever he can. When they do meet again though, Thorin seems entirely unaffected and Fili is painfully aware of how much trouble he's in.

 

Many years later he gets drunk enough on Elven wine to follow Thorin into a moonlit garden and, when the light conversation between them ceases, places a hand on his shoulder and return the kiss.

Thorin's lips are not as soft as he remembers - they're chapped from the tiring journey that lies behind them, and he only returns the kiss for one blissful moment before pushing him back.

"We can't," he murmurs, eyes downcast.

"We can't or we shouldn't?" counters Fili.

"Both, damn you," says Thorin. "Where did this come from, what gave you the idea-"

"You don't remember?" says Fili, incredulous. "You kissed me. I was twenty-two and had just made my first dagger, and you kissed me."

Thorin groans. "I didn't think you'd remember that." Fili stares at him. He has carried that moment around for sixty years, and wonders if maybe Thorin has too.

"It's not the sort of thing one forgets," he says finally. "If you can do it, why can't I?"

"I should not have taken that from you," whispers Thorin. He's shaking, Fili is surprised to see, even though the evening is warm.

"Then have the courtesy to give it back," pleads Fili. He's not above begging, not after sixty years and Thorin standing right in front of him with the same gaze he wore that fateful day.

After what seems an eternity, Thorin finally looks up. His fingers are clenched in his cloak, but he nods slowly and takes a step towards Fili to cup his neck.

Wordlessly, Fili clasps the other hand in his own and tugs his uncle closer. Their lips meet again, and the third kiss is everything the first one could never have been, not when Fili was still so young.

Thorin's mouth is hot and greedy, and he tugs and shifts Fili until he's satisfied with the way his mouth opens under his uncle’s. The rush of memory of the long-forgotten taste overwhelms Fili, and he licks and bites to catch it all, burrows closer into Thorin's body to surround himself with the touch and scent of Thorin.

 

Later, much later, he smokes his pipe at the open window of Thorin's room and silently thanks any God responsible for this.


	4. Kili/Dwalin

To say that Dwalin is surprised when Kili interrupts their sparring lesson to climb on his lap is an understatement. He's just gotten over the shock - _the nerve of that brat!_ \- when Kili leans in and-

Dwalin shoves him back. "What are you doing, lad," he says.

"You're supposed to teach me, are you not?" answers Kili, the cheeky bugger, and Dwalin scowls.

"Aye, I'm supposed to teach you the axe and the sword, not tumbling."

"Yes, but how else am I to learn it?" Kili says. "What if I find a lovely lass and the first time I kiss her, I do it wrong, and invite everyone to mock the line of Durin?"

It's the flimsiest excuse Dwalin has ever heard, and he's about to say so when Kili continues, "Surely you have experience in these matters, right? You're not scared because you don't know how-"

"I've plenty experience," interrupts Dwalin. He's growing irritated, and Kili is shifting closer again.

"Please, Mister Dwalin, just once," he needles, bright hazel eyes pleading. Dwalin hesitates. He's being played, he knows, but he is tempted. The boy is young, but he's always pushed against any resistance, went where he shouldn't. It's a dangerous game for an heir of Durin.

And Dwalin is a simple dwarf, line of Durin or not. He serves, he protects, and he takes his pleasures where he can, be it bashing in Orc skulls or tupping tavern wenches.

Kili has resumed his position on Dwalin's lap, thighs obscenely spread. He's nuzzling Dwalin's beard, rubbing his face in the thick black strands like a kitten, and Dwalin's resolve wavers.

He grabs Kili tightly by the hair and tugs his head back. The brat is smiling, and Mahal help him, he'll make this a lesson the boy won't forget.

"You get one kiss," he declares, and when Kili opens his mouth to protest, lifts his finger. "One. Make the most of it."

Kili's eyes widen. Dwalin can see the gears turning in that pretty head, and chuckles. Let's see what the boy comes up with.

As expected, Kili goes straight for his mouth, pushing and pressing sloppily at his lips. Dwalin shifts his hands to cradle Kili's ass, squeezing it appreciatively and sets to teach the boy. He tilts his head to adjust their angle, then bites softly at Kili's lips, who, bless his wits, catches on and opens them. The kiss slows almost imperceptibly, and Dwalin presses on, teaching the boy how much pressure to use, how to suck and bite and lick at his teacher's lips.

Before long, Dwalin becomes aware of the hardness in his trousers, and judging by the soft moans that escape Kili, he's in a similar state. What he hasn't counted on is Kili rubbing him through the rough cloth, fingers alternately squeezing and stroking along his length. He hesitates, the image of a scowling Thorin clear in his mind, but the boy hasn't broken the rules yet - they're still kissing, albeit clumsily.

He blindly reaches for the clasp of Kili's trousers, and opens them deftly, sliding his hand inside to stroke the young dwarf's cock.

"Oh," whispers Kili into his mouth, and Dwalin grins.

"It's only fair," he replies.

It doesn't take him long to come, but he does have to open his own trousers because Kili is already lost in the pleasure, panting harshly against his lips. When he Kili slips slender fingers around the shaft of his cock, he groans and catches Kili's lower lip between his teeth, sucking until it's plump and wet. That, coupled with his strokes must have been too much for the young dwarf. He whimpers into Dwalin's mouth and comes in hot spurts across his hand, grinding his hips down.

Dwalin has to clasp Kili's hand on his own cock to remind him to keep going, guiding the fingers and squeezing until he groans and comes, coating Kili's shirt and trousers.

They're still kissing, technically, so he closes his mouth and presses his lips softly against Kili's before separating. Kili is bleary-eyed, but he recovers quickly, jumping from Dwalin's lap and refastening his pants.

"Thank you, Mister Dwalin," he says with a rough voice. Dwalin can only stare after him as he saunters out in his stained clothes, hair curling in every direction.

He hopes to Mahal Thorin doesn't see the boy.


	5. Bilbo/Nori

Nori liked the Shire, he really did. The markets had food aplenty, the pipeweed was spicy, and the looks, while suspicious, were not openly hostile.

It was still a good two hours until the sun would set and his contact would arrive, and Nori got comfortable on the small wall separating field and path. He lit his pipe and smoked contently. It wasn't long before a rustling broke him out of his reverie. From the corn behind him emerged a young halfling, golden-haired and panting, and clad in a smart red jacket that was currently stained with all manner of things, clutching his stomach. He looked back and tumbled into the wall, knocking into Nori, and turned sharply.

"Oh!" said the hobbit, "Sorry, I didn't see you there."

Nori did his best to look virtuous. Guessing by the look on the hobbit's face, he was missing by a mile.

"It's quite alright," he reassured the nervous hobbit. "Now, what are you running from?"

The hobbit grinned unexpectedly. In answer, he lifted his arms and Nori saw an assortment of mushrooms collected in the hobbit's previously white shirt. "Farmer Bramble doesn't like it when we're on his land."

Nori raised his eyebrows. A troublemaker, then. He patted the wall. "Sit up and share, and I shall save you from this Bramble fellow."

He even gave the lad a hand up, and the hobbit settled comfortably.

"My father always tells me not to talk to dwarfs," he mused. "But my mother does all the time, so it's probably fine."

"What's you name, then?" asked Nori, and the blond puffed himself up.

"Bilbo Baggins, at your service," he replied formally, and even sketched a little bow. Nori was impressed, and offered the hobbit his pipe, which Bilbo took, handing over two mushrooms in exchange. He sucked in a good lungful of smoke and barely coughed, handing it back with shaky hands.

"What's your name?" he wheezed.

"Nivar," Nori answered, painfully conscious of the fact that there would be two, no, _three_ scandalized hobbits after him very soon. _Mustn’t forget the farmer..._

"Are you an adventurer?" Bilbo's fingers reached for the pipe once more, and Nori let him take it.

"I suppose," said Nori carefully. "I'm from the Blue Mountains. Have you ever been there?"

Bilbo shook his head. "I've been to Bree once," he said, "but no further than that. I won't be of age until next year, and it's dangerous to go too far." He sounded sad for a moment, lost in thought, then his eyes widened. "Can't I come on an adventure with you?"

"And what would we do with a hobbit?" laughed Nori, amused.

"We're clever, and small, and we're very good at riddles," said Bilbo. He was swaying lightly, eyes half-closed, and Nori examined the pipe hastily.

"Aulë's boots, halfling, you've smoked half the bowl!" he grumbled. Bilbo smiled happily.

"I'm going to be an adventurer one day," he said dreamily. He leaned into Nori, golden curls tickling his neck. "I'm going to slay trolls and giants, and then Lobelia will die of shame."

Nori curled an arm around him. "Who's this Lobelia then, your lass?" Bilbo shook his head vehemently.

"She's family," he said, and wrinkled his nose. "I don't have a lass, they're no fun to be around." He waved his hands vaguely. "All ribbons and pretty dresses and tidy hair."

Nori grinned. "Aye, they're not the adventurous kind, for the most part."

"So?" asked Bilbo, and turned to face Nori. Blue eyes gazed steadily at him. "Can I come with you."

"Maybe one day," said Nori gently. The sun was setting behind a group of oak trees, and he had to go, now, before he got roped into something even shadier than his usual trade.

He slid from the wall nimbly and picked up his mace.

"You're leaving?" cried Bilbo. Nori sighed. The hobbit's face was bathed in golden light, and he looked entirely too tempting.

"I've miles to go and trolls to kill," he replied and winked. He clapped a hand on Bilbo shoulder and leaned in to hug the hobbit. Before he could extricate himself, he found a warm mouth pressed to his, inexpertly and dry. He hesitated, then gently pressed back. _It won't hurt_ , he swore to himself, _it won't change anything_ , and he kissed Bilbo chastely.

_Just a hint of adventure, is all..._

One hand was tangled in Bilbo's curls, and the hobbit's fingers were pushing into his carefully braided hair, tugging errand strands loose. When he became aware of an entirely improper hardness in his breeches, Nori gave the hobbit's lips one last lick and separated. Bilbo's eyes were closed and he was still swaying a little.

"Goodbye, Bilbo Baggins," he said fondly and left quickly, not looking back.

Bilbo touched his fingers to his lips and watched the dwarf's figure grow small as he made his way down the path. "One day," he murmured.


End file.
